Band of Misfits
by KitsuneButterfly
Summary: Following the loss at Ostagar, it's up to one ragtag group of virtual strangers to save Ferelden from the Blight.  Chapter Two: The nameless stranger.
1. 1: Little Bird

Mmm, my first shot at a Dragon Age fic. This is spawned from wondering "what if all of my play-throughs happened at the same time?" Of course, not all of them could be Wardens because Duncan can only be one place at one time... and then came the plot bunnies in freaking _spades_.

So, I bring you all: Band of Misfits. The story starts with the character from my first play-through, and will follow the general quest order I did with her, which is amazingly out of order. Other characters, both NPC party members and other PCs will come in later.

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**Chapter 1.1 - Little Bird**

"I do believe you've been bested, Captain," said Wren Cousland with a smile. The point of her sword was at the man's throat, she was the victor of their practice match.

The old captain of the guard laughed as Wren lowered her sword. "I remember when you couldn't even lift that sword, lass, yet you paraded around on that Mabari of yours like he was a warhorse stabbing at everything with a pilfered kitchen knife."

"And mother always took away my improvised sword before I could really get into my play," said Wren with a mock sigh. "I've come a long way since then."

Indeed, the younger of the Cousland siblings, once a rambunctious young filly with a head of perpetually messy jet-black hair had come a long way since her childhood. At age sixteen she had hit a growth spurt that hadn't stopped until she broke six feet in height, causing her to tower over many of her peers, even into adulthood. Her hair had grown long and straightened out; Wren kept it in a braid that reached to her lower back. She had also grown proficient with various sharp instruments of death, despite early protests from her mother –who had, at first, objected to her young daughter being taught the fighting arts. Wren's favorite weapons were her sword and dagger, which years of practice had taught her to wield simultaneously.

Before she and the captain of the guard could wander far down memory lane together, one of the knights at Castle Cousland and close personal friend of Wren's appeared in the doorway to the courtyard where Wren and the Captain were practicing.

"Wren," began Ser Gilmore, "Your dog has gotten into the larder again and Nan is pitching a fit… again. Also, your father wishes to have a bit of a family goodbye for Fergus. He's leaving today, you know."

"Ah, silly dog," grumbled Wren under her breath. "Goodbye Captain," she called as she headed for the doorway where Ser Gilmore waited, "Perhaps we can have another match tomorrow."

"Count on it!" called back the good-natured old Captain. Sparring with the Teyrn's daughter, no matter how often he lost, always made him feel young again.

"Nan hates that dog of yours, you know," said Ser Gilmore as they walked to the kitchens together. "Can't you train him to stay out of the kitchens?"

"Rory," chuckled Wren, not bothering to use his formal title, "That would be like trying to keep little Oren out of the sweets – near impossible. And for similar reasons, too…" she trailed off.

They soon reached the kitchens and paused just outside the closed door, from the other side of which they could hear Nan yelling at Wren's Mabari hound. Wren glanced around momentarily to make sure no one was watching before giving Ser Gilmore a light peck on the cheek. "Tomorrow," she whispered in his ear before backing away and opening the door to the kitchens, where Nan immediately rounded on her and began scolding her for letting her dog play in the larders.

Wren ignored most of her former nanny's complaints, choosing simply to nod and look apologetic while her mind wandered. Yes, it was true that Ser Gilmore was and had been for quite some time her romantic interest. However, discretion was the key practice in their relationship. With Wren being a Teyrn's daughter and Ser Gilmore being a simple knight, their relationship would most definitely be frowned upon should they be found out. They kept their affairs secret and appeared to be just friends when eyes were upon them.

"Won't you do something about your dog?" snapped Nan, startling Wren out of her thoughts.

"Right, sorry Nan," said Wren as she walked into the larder, where her faithful hound was sniffing around. "What is it, boy?" she asked as she knelt next to her Mabari.

The dog growled and nosed a pile of sacks, from behind which immediately burst a pack of rather large rats.

Wren and her hound made quick work of the vile rodents, and once the deed was done, the dog practically pranced out of the larder looking amazingly smug.

"I assume he ate the roast," said Nan grumpily as she noticed the self-satisfied look on the hound's face.

"Actually," said Wren as she sheathed her dagger, "he saved the roast. You had a nasty little pack of rats lurking behind some old bags of flour. He cornered them and helped me dispose of them."

"Well I'll be," said the old woman, somewhat amazed that the animal could actually be useful. "In any case, please keep him out of the kitchens in the future."

"I can try," chuckled Wren as she led her Mabari out. Once they were out of earshot, Wren praised her hound and gave him some well-deserved petting before the pair headed toward her family's chambers.

On her way, she was stopped by her mother, who was entertaining guests. Wren made polite conversation before both she and her mother excused themselves to say goodbye to Fergus.

Goodbyes were said and Wren remained in her family's chambers to play with her nephew, Oren, until it was time for the boy to be put to bed. As she walked back to her own room, she was accompanied by her sister-in-law, Oriana.

"You're not that much younger than Fergus, you know," said Oriana quietly as the two walked together down the hall.

"And?" said Wren, knowing very well where this conversation was headed but hardly bothered by it.

"Well, one would think that you should be settling down soon. You know, finding a nice man… perhaps Oren could have a cousin to play with at some point.

Wren shrugged. "I'm not really ready to settle down, nor do I have any prospective husbands lined up. Marriage and children is far too complicated of a concept for me to grasp," she said almost sadly. "I'm better suited to the battlefield."

"I see," said Oriana thoughtfully. "Goodnight, then," she said as they reached Wren's bedroom.

"Goodnight, Oriana," said Wren. With that, she walked into her room and closed the door. That night, she slept well and dreamed of little red-haired children running around her, tugging on the straps of her armor, while she embraced their father.


	2. 1: LittleBird

Part two of chapter one, huzzah. Not many of my fics make it to this point so fast. XD Here we learn where the chapter title came from.

Disclaimer, because I forgot it in the first chapter: I don't own Dragon Age or its associated places and NPCs. But you probably already knew that.

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**Chapter 1.2 - Little Bird**

In the darkest hour of the night, Wren was dragged from her dreams by the whining of her hound. "What is it, boy?" she asked sleepily as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

Her Mabari growled and kept his eyes trained on the door. Something was out there.

Wren pulled on her armor and a pair of pants. It wouldn't do to face potential danger wearing only her thin nightdress. She tied her hair loosely before grabbing her blades and opening the door.

Her hound sprang at the first foe it saw. The man tried to throw his shield up in defense, but the enraged Mabari was faster. He was unable to scream because the dog was at his throat, teeth ravaging the soft flesh.

Wren caught a glimpse of the shield: Howe's crest. Howe's men were attacking her home!

At the sound of her door opening and the snarling of her hound, the other soldiers in the hall who had been previously trying to get into her parents' room turned to face Wren, who stood in her doorway. They charged and Wren took a step back into her room as she took a fighting stance.

Because she was in her room, her attackers had to come in one at a time, allowing her to cut each one down in turn. As she yanked her blade out of the last soldier, she heard footsteps and soon her mother came into view.

"I heard fighting and came running. Have you seen your father? He never came to bed," she said worriedly.

Wren shook her head. "No."

"We have to find him and get out," said the Teyrna.

"Is there nothing else we can do?" asked Wren. "What about our men who are still alive?" A hard knot of fear settled in her chest as she thought about Ser Gilmore. What would happen to him? Did he still live or had he been killed be Howe's men?

"There are a few items we need to get out of the treasury that Howe does not need to get his hands on. As for the men…" Eleanor trailed off, looking for an appropriate answer. "It is their duty to defend Castle Cousland."

Wren bit her lip, but said nothing, choosing instead to open the door to her brother's room to make sure that Oriana and Oren were safe.

The sight before her caused Wren's eyes to widen and her blades to tremble in her grip. Lying dead in pools of their own blood were her sister-in-law and her nephew. "No," she gasped. Then, recovering from the initial shock, her eyes narrowed into angry slits. "Damn it!" she snarled, readjusting her grip on her blades, "Howe will pay."

"Wren, dear, let's go. I can't… I can't look at this any longer," choked her mother. Wren's Mabari whined in agreement.

And so, mother, daughter, and faithful pet hacked and slashed their way to the treasury, where Wren retrieved a bit of gold, the family blade, and the Shield of Highever. After replacing her main blade with the family sword and buckling the shield across her back, Wren and her companions set off for the main hall.

When they reached the main hall, they assisted Ser Gilmore, the Captain of the Guard, and a few of the guards in battle with Howe's men that had managed to get inside.

"Rory," said Wren as she sheathed her swords following the death of the last soldier, "Have you seen my father?"

"Last I saw him," said Ser Gilmore, "he was heading for the kitchen pantry."

"Then we must go as well," said Eleanor.

"One moment," said Wren. She knew very well that most, if not all, of the men would die here. She saluted the remaining guards and to their Captain, she gave one last firm handshake and a soft "thank you". Wren then turned to Ser Gilmore. "I have… no words," she said, holding back the tears that threatened to fall then. "Other than 'I love you'," she said as she embraced her knight and gave him one last kiss.

"I love you too, little bird," said Ser Gilmore. "Goodbye, Wren," he said sadly as he brushed a few stray hairs from her face. "May the Maker watch over you."

"And you as well," said Wren as she went to join her mother and hound at the door. "Goodbye, Rory."

With that, the trio left to find the Teyrn.

"You and Ser Gilmore…?" began her mother as they walked, keeping a wary eye out for Howe's men.

Wren nodded.

"And when were you planning on informing me of this?" asked Eleanor as she fitted an arrow to her bow. She could hear the clank of heavy armor – Howe's men approached.

"Never, actually," said Wren as she unsheathed her blades. "We both knew that you and father would disapprove."

"Naturally," said Eleanor as she let her arrow fly.

Neither was able to continue the discussion as Howe's soldiers swarmed around them. They finally made it to the kitchen and Eleanor barred the door behind them as they entered.

"It won't hold them for long," she said as she headed for the pantry, "but perhaps just long enough for us to get away." Their earlier conversation seemed to have been forgotten for the moment.

When the door to the pantry was open, Wren and Eleanor found Teyrn Bryce Cousland sitting propped against some barrels, his hand pressed against a gaping wound in his side that was slowly leaking warm red blood into a puddle around him.

"Bryce!" cried Eleanor as she ran to her husband.

"Eleanor," he said with a tired, sad smile up at his wife, "and Wren. There's not much left for me, I'm afraid. You should escape. Leave me here; I don't think I'll last for much longer, anyway." Bryce chuckled weakly.

"Don't say that Bryce," said Eleanor. "I won't leave you."

"Nor I," said Wren. "We make our last stand together."

Wren's Mabari added his bark of support.

Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but Wren cut her off.

"I'm not leaving."

It was then that the wooden door to the kitchen shattered and a stream of Howe's soldiers poured in. They spotted the Couslands, who had left the pantry door open, and immediately set upon the family.

Eleanor stood over her husband and fired arrow after arrow into the mass of soldiers until her quiver was empty, forcing her to pull out a small dagger and engage in close combat with any of the soldiers who came near. Wren's hound stood with Eleanor, lashing out at the men with tooth and claw.

Wren hacked away, dual blades flashing in the dim moonlight as she cut down soldier after soldier. Their numbers seemed endless from where she stood, in front of her parents and directly facing the horde that squeezed one by one into the pantry.

It occurred to her, at one point, to close and bar the pantry door when she was able to reach it and the soldiers from the kitchen had gathered in the pantry and were taking stabs at both her and her mother. However, while she took the opportunity to do that, one of the soldiers managed to get a hit in on her mother. With a cry, Eleanor Cousland fell to Howe's men. Her body landed across that of her husband, who had expired some time during the fight. They died as they lived: together.

Wren rounded on the remaining soldiers, eyes flashing dangerously. "You killed my family, you killed my friends, and you killed my lover," she spat. "You will not leave this room alive." With that, she sprang at the men while her hound began to tear into them from behind.

Four against one was hardly a fair fight, and Wren was getting tired. She wrenched her sword out of one man and plunged her dagger into another. A third soldier came up on her left; Wren was only able to partially block his attack and the tip of his blade carved a jagged line from her jawline to her temple. The swordsman managed to land a few more hits on Wren before she was able remove her dagger from the dead man's armor and properly retaliate.

Her Mabari had managed to take on her fourth opponent as well as his own small group of them, and stood over his last opponent with a rather gruesome still-armored detached hand in his mouth.

"Put that down," said Wren tiredly. The gash on the side of her face made it hurt to talk and her body was aching from the blows and cuts she had suffered from the soldiers.

The dog did as he was told and joined his mistress as she surveyed the damage.

Her parents were dead and soldiers would inevitably come barging in soon to see what had happened to their fellows. She had to leave. She had to live to seek revenge on Howe for all he had done.

Taking one of the barrels from the group that her father had been leaning against in his final moments, she pulled its lid off and spilled its contents all over the stone floor. Why they kept lamp oil in the pantry she would never know, but it was more useful for her intended purpose than any other substance.

"Come," she called to her Mabari as she stood down the escape tunnel just away from the dampened section of floor.

The animal came, carefully avoiding the oil. It seemed he was smart enough to know what his mistress intended.

Lighting one of the torches on the wall of the tunnel, she briefly said a prayer to the Maker for her deceased loved ones and tossed the torch onto the oil-soaked floor.


	3. 1: LittlexBird

I still haven't given that dog a name yet. He'll get one in the next chapter, I promise. Also, I'm glad this is the last part of "Chapter One" because I'm running out of ways to write "Little Bird". The site won't let me name two fic-chapters the same thing.

This last section of chapter one was written under the influence of Lady GaGa's music. Make of that what you will.

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**Chapter 1.3 - Little Bird**

Wren and her hound made it out of the service tunnel easily, but had a bit of trouble with the guards stationed near it. Both Mabari and mistress were tired and battered, which made the fight that much harder. When they found themselves out numbed and unable to continue the fight, Wren saw an escape and ran for it, her hound hot on her heels.

The guards at one of the small back gates had left his post to join the fight against Wren and her Mabari. Wren ran for this unguarded gate, because beyond it she could find safety. She could get lost in the woods around Highever and Howe's men would not be able to find her.

Just as she exited the gate, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder and let out an involuntary cry, though she kept running. One of Howe's men was fast with his crossbow and had been able to let off a bolt that went straight through her shoulder.

Eventually, she could run no more and dropped into the shelter provided by a large fallen tree. The roots that had been ripped from the ground created a dark hole while the ones that remained sheltered Wren from sight and the elements as she and her hound huddled at the base of the tree between the roots.

She had survived, but at what cost? Her family was dead, save for her brother, who was stationed at Ostagar. The man she loved was also dead, as were the friends she had in Castle Cousland. She had no home.

"At least I have you," she murmured tiredly to the blood-soaked Mabari next to her as she stroked his dirty fur with her uninjured arm. Sighing, she reached her hand up to the crossbow bolt in her shoulder. It had to come out. She bit her lip and the fingers on her injured arm dug into the soft earth as she tugged on the bolt with her good arm until it finally came free. Wren stabbed the bloody bolt into the ground and grabbed a tattered, exposed corner of her nightdress. She had no bandages, so bits of her clothing would have to do.

She ripped the end of her nightdress until she had a long strip, which she wrapped awkwardly around her injured shoulder. Wren also made a few more strips and wrapped them around other wounds. The gash on her face she had to leave unbandaged because she couldn't find a way to bandage it without obscuring her vision. She thought about wrapping her hound's wounds as well, but he seemed to have the task well in hand in his own way. He had licked most of them clean and none of them appeared all that bad once the area around them was cleared of excess blood. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned against the tree.

Wren must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes next, the sun was high in the sky. She prodded her sleeping Mabari, who yawned and stretched before standing and looking at her curiously.

"We're going to Ostagar, boy," she said as she, too, stood with the help of her sword. First and foremost, she wanted to find her brother and let him know what had transpired at Castle Cousland. Then, she could go about finding a way to get her revenge on Howe for his treachery. Just before they left, Wren did something particularly peculiar. Using her injured arm, she pulled her long hair taut behind her and using her good arm, she sliced off her black locks only inches from the back of her head, leaving her hair in an odd wedge-shaped cut that was to her jaw in the front but flat against her head in the back. She tossed the mass of hair into the hollow with the bloody bolt, the only signs that she had been there.

And so, the pair traveled to Ostagar. They took it slow, at first, because Wren's injuries prevented them from quickening their pace. Over the course of their journey, Wren's injuries healed, though she was left a bit stiff, especially in the shoulder that was shot by one of Howe's men's crossbows. The gash on her face healed as well, though it left a long and fairly obvious scar. As they neared Ostagar, Wren became much more careful; she knew very well that there were darkspawn about. It was a Blight, after all.

As she and her hound neared Ostagar, the Mabari let out a loud howl and charged into the woods ahead of them. Wren unsheathed her blades and followed, crashing through the underbrush behind her hound. They came upon a clearing with a few darkspawn standing amid fresh human corpses. Wren was immediately repulsed by the creatures and tightened her grip on her blades. So these were the fabled darkspawn – ugly things the likes of which were best left in nightmares.

Her Mabari immediately lunged at the taller of the darkspawn while Wren took on the two short ones standing over one of the corpses. They were caught slightly off guard by the appearance of Wren and her Mabari, giving Wren an advantage. With a quick thrust, her dagger was in the face of one and her sword was swinging through the other's neck. She could have sworn they both wore equally surprised looks as they died. As soon as her two opponents fell, Wren got a good look at the corpse they were standing over and screamed. Her weapons clattered to the ground.

Looking up at her in death was her brother. Only his face remained intact; his body had been mutilated by the darkspawn. Wren sank to her knees next to his body and let out a sound somewhere between a sob and another scream. Next to her, her hound whined.

Almost automatically, a prayer for her brother's soul left her lips. On the last word of her prayer, she grabbed her blades and stood. As though in a trance, she walked through the forest toward Ostagar.

As she approached the gates, the soldier who had been guarding them began to greet her, but he immediately stopped when he saw the look in her eyes and the darkspawn blood on her blade.

"Make me a Warden," she said, her voice cold. Her priorities had just gotten rearranged. Wren's first order of business was to become a Grey Warden and slaughter as many darkspawn as possible. They had taken the last of her family from her. She would show them as little mercy as they had most likely shown her brother. Once the Blight was ended, she would seek out Howe and kill him in the most painful way possible. She could practice her technique on the darkspawn.


	4. 2: Stranger

Hooray, next chapter! This chapter only has one part because Vlad's story needs the least background. College is eating my soul (Damn you studio classes, damn youuuu!) so chapters will be slow to come out, especially if I forget to transfer the file from my home computer to my laptop again...

Anyway, enjoy!

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**Chapter 2.1 - Stranger**

Months before Teyrn Cousland's forces were to arrive from Highever, the change in watch on the front gates of Ostagar was met with a very strange sight when he took his post early that morning. He hadn't been told what would be waiting for him by the guard he was relieving, so he assumed that this oddity had appeared in the mere moments no one had been at the post.

An unconscious man covered in blood was lying just a few yards from the gate in full view. It looked as though he had passed out in the road while walking. He was wearing nothing save for a pair of well-worn pants that barely hung on his thin, starved-looking frame.

"Hey!" called the guard, "Got somebody out here; might be injured."

At the guard's call, two more guards walked out of Ostagar to collect the bloody man. They carried him in and lay him on a cot near the healers, who cleaned him up and it was discovered that the only real wound on him was a gash on his temple. The majority of the blood must have belonged to something – or someone – else.

When he awoke, he was questioned by various members of authority at Ostagar. He revealed nothing of his origins to them, for he was unable to. The man knew nothing of who he was, where he was, or why he was there. The healers told those questioning him that he may have lost his memories due to the hard hit to the head that had resulted in him having a gash on his temple.

After he was declared fit for any sort of duty they could think of to give him, he was allowed to roam Ostagar as an errand boy, though he was hardly a boy. He was a fairly tall man with long dark hair and, once he had been fed enough to regain his proper body shape – as opposed to the bag of bones he was when he was found – he was actually revealed to be quite fit and particularly sturdy. The men in authority were unsure of what to call him at first, until one of them finally suggested Vladimir. It stuck, and the nameless stranger became Vladimir the errand boy.

It was while running errands, this particular one being the delivery of a large fancy sword for someone named Ser Hogthorn all the way across the camp, that he stumbled upon a fight taking place off the beaten paths of Ostagar. One of the Wardens, the wise-cracking new one, had gotten into an argument with a particularly large and obviously drunk soldier.

Vladimir paused and watched as the larger man began to yell in the Warden's face, calling him all manner of foul names while the Warden, obviously in over his spiky brown-blond head, tried to stammer things that sounded like apologies. It was during one of these hastily-said apologies that the soldier whipped his massive battleaxe off of his back surprisingly fast for one so drunk.

He was unsure why he acted as he did next. Vladimir pulled the sword he was delivering off of his back and stepped deliberately between the two men, blocking the axe blow with the greatsword. "I'm going to have to ask you to cease and desist, Ser," he said calmly as he batted the axe away.

"Who th' hell're you to be givin' me orders? I've seen you 'round camp; you're tha errand boy!" grunted the soldier as he took another swing, this time directly at Vladimir.

The dark-haired errand boy blocked once more and the clang of steel-on-steel rang through the air. This time, instead of readying another swing, the soldier bore down on the axe, apparently aiming to either force Vladimir to his knees or shatter the sword and cleave him in two.

Vladimir was about to let neither of these happen. He braced one hand on the flat of the greatsword and threw all of his weight behind the sword as he thrust it upward, causing the soldier to lose his grip on his weapon. The axe flew backwards a foot or two and landed in the grass behind the drunkard.

The drunken soldier looked at his empty hands confusedly for a moment, a moment that Vladimir took advantage of. He knocked the soldier hard in the head with the pommel of the sword, effectively knocking the soldier out.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. I could have handled him just fine on my own," said the Warden, a slightly grumpy look on his face.

"Oh, but what would the Warden commander think if his newest Warden was caught in a petty scrap with a drunk? Best let the errand boy take the blame for that," said Vladimir with a grin.

"Who are you, anyway?" asked the Warden, squinting at the errand boy. "I've seen you around, but I've never met you. And I've met a lot of people around here."

"Vladimir the errand boy, at your service, Ser," said Vladimir with a bow that caused him to knock his own head on the pommel of the sword he was holding. Straightening and rubbing his head, he continued. "Who might you be? I know you're a Warden, but I don't yet know your name. I haven't had to deliver anything to you yet."

"I'm Alistair. You're very handy with that greatsword, Vladimir. Where did you learn how to use such a thing so well?"

"I'm not rightfully sure," said Vladimir as he re-fastened said sword across his back. "You see, I have no memories prior to waking up in Ostagar. I can only assume that I was trained in the art of swordplay before then and it sort of stuck with me."

Alistair gasped. "So you're that guy!"

Vladimir arched an inky eyebrow. "Which guy?"

"The one the guards found two months ago with no name and no memories."

"That would be me," said Vladimir as he leaned against the sword almost lazily.

Before further conversation could ensue, Duncan walked up to the two men. "Alistair," started Duncan.

He was interrupted by Vladimir. "Ah, Ser, it was I who knocked out the soldier. Not Alistair."

Duncan looked amused by the outspoken errand boy. "I know that, and I'll get to you momentarily." He turned to the younger Warden. "Alistair, in the future, try not to harass drunks." Duncan's gaze then settled on Vladimir and his voice, while it had carried an amused tone while talking to Alistair, took on a more serious one when he addressed the errand boy. "Vladimir, there is much more to you than it first appeared. I believe that there is a place for you in the Wardens, if you'll have it."

Vladimir looked from Duncan to the sword he was carrying. "Does this mean I'm promoted?" he asked with an impish grin.

And promoted he was. No longer was Vladimir an errand boy, but a Warden recruit. He was the second in camp, the first having arrived with Duncan only hours before Vladimir was given his delivery orders and subsequently stumbled upon Alistair and the drunkard. Duncan had only recently left for the Mage's Tower to find a third.

It was weeks after the forces from Highever arrived that Vladimir found himself as one of the gate guards. When a woman and hound walked out of the forest and up the road to Ostagar, Vladimir made to greet her but stopped when he saw the blood on her blade and the terrifying look in her stormy gray eyes.

"Make me a Warden," she said to him, her voice cold. That combined with the look on her scarred face, he was unable to say no and led her into the fortress. He would have her talk to Duncan when the senior Warden returned.


End file.
